


Bound In The Briars

by EffingEden



Category: Merry Gentry - Laurell K Hamilton
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Community: comment_fic, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/EffingEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen is bored and has decided some art will serve as a worthy distraction</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound In The Briars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nephir](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nephir).



> Comment_fic prompt, 'Merry Gentry; Frost/Doyle; The smell of roses'

The briars wound around his black skin like living rope. He didn’t flinch as the slender thorns pressed into his flesh, though Frost knew it would be agonising. The vines began to undulate gently, suckling on the rich sidhe blood. Not pure, not royal, but still thick with raw power.

His hands were drawn together behind his back, wrist to elbow, forcing his chest out to make him look like a proud slave or defiant captive though he was neither. He hadn’t even done anything wrong. This display was for their queen’s pleasure. That was all they lived for, after all.

Frost could see the tension in Darkness’ shoulders now. He was straining against the drag of the briars, torn between submitting to the wishes of their queen and fighting against being so helpless. Black eyes flicked to him, a silent plea in them. Frost inclined his head ever so slightly, the movement hardly shifting his metallic hair, understanding what his captain was asking of him. Doyle stayed on his feet for a few more moments, blood dripping from his bound arms before he allowed himself to be pulled down.

It was an effort to take his eyes from the man before him, but he was Doyle’s second. With Darkness serving as the queen’s entertainment, it was Frost’s duty now to control the room, make sure of their Queen’s safety as she played.

For several minutes, Frost didn’t even glance at Doyle, his attention focused on his task, until – “Frost. Do you not like the display?” Queen Andais’ question was light, but far from casual. Frost’s attention fixed on her, his chest giving a sullen pang to see her lounging with her consort, stroking the man’s hardness as she watched him.

He looked at Darkness again. The briars hand twines about his legs, his chest – even his throat. He was shuddering, twitching on occasion but holding himself still for the most part. There were several roses blooming, the colour in them too near to freshly spilled blood to be anything but. Naked, straining against the binds of vine and torments of thorn, Darkness was beautiful. Such strength and power restrained, his vulnerable throat, belly and groin displayed as his back was forced into an acute arch. His manhood stood proud, dark as he was and arching arrogantly. A single, thin vine slid across the dark sidhe’s belly and coiled around the base of the stiff flesh, drawing a low hiss from the captain of the guard. “You are an artist, my Queen. I have never seen Doyle look so breathtaking.”

Andais smiled, all sadistic pleasure and preening ego. She wore the ugliness with heartbreaking beauty. “I am pleased you enjoy it, though I do not think the masterpiece is finished yet. Service him, my Frost. I want my Darkness to tremble.”

He didn’t hesitate. He bowed to his Queen and moved towards his captain, not too fast in fear of seeming eager, dropping to his knees and letting his hair fall over black skinned hips.

For years after, whenever he caught the scent of a briar rose, he could feel the ghost of vein-ridged velvet glide in and out of his mouth and hear the echoes of stifled groans in his ears.


End file.
